


and i set him free

by backdraft_bimbo



Series: the angel in the rubble [2]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Dialogue Heavy, Ghosts, Grieving, M/M, Mental Illness, Paranormal, Tragedy, ambiguous - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backdraft_bimbo/pseuds/backdraft_bimbo
Summary: Six days after Buck's funeral, Eddie gets a voicemail.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Series: the angel in the rubble [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184654
Comments: 13
Kudos: 141





	and i set him free

Eddie is finally alone now. 

Everything in his life has blurred and morphed into a colossus of _too much_ , so he’s heroically abandoned Christopher with Carla for the weekend. She understood, of course, but that doesn’t stop Eddie from feeling bad about it. She’s grieving too. Everyone is. 

The last thing Eddie wants is to make Chris hate him. The firefighter is exhausted even on leave, and he’s been trying his best, yet after five days, his “best” has become impossible to live with. Eddie hopes, in these measly 48 hours, he will find some reprieve from the grief the tsunami swept up inside him. Maybe he’ll even grow a pair and figure out how to be a good father for once. 

Immediately, the atmosphere in his apartment becomes hollow, and his living room is too quiet. The silence is somehow more terrifying than the frequent nightly screaming. Eddie finds that managing his own nightmares is hard enough; how can he help Chris if he’s hardly coping himself?

_It’s okay to talk about your feelings, buddy._

“Shut up, Buck,” Eddie mutters. “Just shut up.” 

Is there anything beside therapy and medication to get him through this? That’s what Bobby and Athena have been telling him; it’s their poison of choice. The sergeant is the one who found his body, after all. She’s the one who first saw those lifeless blue eyes and pale lips and–

Not now. 

Eddie just hasn’t been a therapy kind of guy. The army isn’t a big fan of it either, as it turns out. Eddie thinks that part of his life may have damaged him forever. The trauma tied his tongue into a knot, closed up his throat, kept him shattered to pieces and yet still put together. Like a broken vase repaired with some flimsy off-brand duct tape; still operational, but ugly as hell. Nobody wants to see that, and Eddie doesn’t believe any therapist will be able to make it past the barriers he’s put up between his mind and his heart.

He will never be able to handle questions like: _How does that make you feel? Why do you think you reacted that way?_ Or phrases such as: _Elaborate on that, tell me more, it’s not your fault, he was your best friend, of course you feel that way, but_ he _never would, this is what happens when you think you’re too good for therapy; you cut people off and leave them alone until they end up mangled and bloody face down in the water–_

Eddie swipes a hand through his hair, furious at the imaginary scenario. 

“Just leave me the fuck alone! _Dios mio…”_

God has always been easier, so Eddie considers praying tonight. But he knows once he starts, he’ll never stop, and the floodgates will come down and never be the same again. 

_Maybe that’s a good thing, Eds._

“It’s not.” 

_How do you know?_

“Because it never is.” 

_Sure._

“You’re not even here, Buck,” Eddie chuckles hollowly. “I’d just be talking to an empty room.” 

_Oh, really? Check your phone._

Eddie curls up on his couch, rolling his eyes. It’s just his stupid brain doing stupid things again. Trying to trick him into getting up, picking up the slack, because Buck had always been the one to do it for him. He really is worthless. 

_You’re not worthless, man, come on._

“Prove it.” 

_Check your phone, Eddie._

_Don’t make me call you Edmundo._

The firefighter snorts, smushing a pillow against his face. 

“What, you don’t like it?”

_On the contrary. I like everything about you._

That makes Eddie furious for some reason; a reason he doesn’t want to understand, nor explain to any shrink, for that matter. Those people would just love picking apart his mind until there was nothing left for himself. They’d rustle through his most painful memories for the kicks of it and call that “healthy processing.” He’d come home more depressed and fucked up in the head than before.

The voice had been entertaining for a while; it was probably some weird coping mechanism his brain created, but now it’s becoming a nuisance. It sounds too familiar, too realistic, too much like his deceased best friend for comfort. It always has been, ever since Buck’s body washed up. And if Eddie starts to doubt himself, the way the voice sounds a little too _right_ sometimes, he just has to remember it’s a product of his grief.

The voice never tells Eddie to move on, after all. That’s how he knows it’s not real.

The firefighter shuts his eyes to make up for the hours his nightmares stole. It works for about two seconds until his phone chimes. Eddie jolts up from the couch, filling to the brim with rage. He says nothing as he snatches his phone and shuts off the ringer without looking at the notification. Maybe with a bit of spite. 

_Please, Eds. Check your phone._

“No,” he grumbles. “Don’t call me that.”

_I’ll go away if you do this one thing for me._

“No, you won’t.” 

_I promise._

“I don’t trust promises. Especially not yours.” 

_Okay, well, that one hurts._

_Listen, I know you think you’re going crazy, but can I prove you wrong?_

Eddie’s anger dies down quickly. Might as well have fun with it, if he’s going insane. He smiles a bit; the first time in a while. “What are you gonna do, flicker the lights or something? Rustle the blinds? I’m not superstitious, Buckley.” 

_You’re a stubborn dude, you know that? Just check your phone._

_“_ _Bésame el culo!”_ he giggles. “I really am losing it, aren’t I?” 

_I’m gonna call your abuelita over here so she can wash your mouth out with soap, Diaz._

“Oh, no… I’m really in for it now.”

Eddie almost hears Buck’s laugh, lively and joyful as ever. A wave of heartbreak washes over him. He sits up and lets the feeling soak into his bones until it becomes unbearable. 

“I’ll look, all right?” he says softly. “Then could you just...be quiet for a while?” 

There’s a heavy, tired pause. An invisible smile. 

_You got it, sweetheart._

Eddie aches. Tries to cough out a laugh. “Now I _really_ know it’s not you.” 

He stretches an arm out to grab his phone. On the screen reads: _NEW VOICEMAIL – BUCK._ His ridiculous profile picture is there, too–one from the photoshoot at May’s graduation party. He’s in this ridiculous theatrical hat, blowing bubbles into the camera with a huge trademark Buckley smile on his face. 

“What the _fuck?_ What the actual fuck! Oh, _dios–_ ” Eddie shrieks, something terrified shooting through his veins. “This, why is this… Pull yourself together man, this has to be a fucking joke.” 

The firefighter unlocks his phone with shaking hands and opens his voicemails. His thumb hovers over the play symbol for a long, frozen minute. He looks away from the screen to scan the living room with his eyes. No flickering lights, no rustling blinds, no doors swinging shut without warning. His heart is pounding so hard he feels like a damn cartoon character. 

“Buck?” he whispers. “Are you here?” 

He can’t be hopeful right now. Even if Buck is here, he’s still dead. Still gone. Eddie won’t be able to see him or touch him or talk to him anymore. That’s how death works, right? Unless… A different wave of fear introduces itself. What if it’s a demon? 

“Now I really sound like my abuela,” Eddie shakes his head, disturbed by the thought. 

_I’m not a demon, Eds. Just listen to it._

He almost jumps when he hears the voice this time. It’s really not just him imagining it, is it? 

“Okay, I’m...I’m trusting you on this one, man.”

_Thanks._

The date reads the day the tsunami hit. Eddie is trembling. How is it that Buck’s voicemail got to his phone _now?_ He’s almost expecting the windows to blow out so a demon (because he might believe in those now) can jump in and drag him down to Hell. He holds his breath and presses play, but all he gets is a short silence, some fuzz on the other end, and then Eddie hears a voice. God, it’s Buck’s voice. He’s hearing him again. Even if the quality is terrible, anything from Buck is good enough for Eddie. 

“Hey, Eddie. I know you’re at your shift, but I just thought…” Buck exhales deeply. There’s a faint swell of waves in the background. He must be at the pier, Eddie realizes, and it hurts as much as it’s supposed to. 

“I just thought I should get this out in the air. You said...you forgave me. Y’know, for the lawsuit and everything. And we’ve been hanging out with Christopher a lot, and he’s such a sweet kid, Eds. You’re such a great dad. I’m honestly...I’m kind of jealous of you. But not in like, a conceited way. I’m really happy for you. Just...if you ever need more help ‘round the house, just call me, and I’m there.” 

There’s a heavy pause, then Buck sucks in a short breath. “I miss you. A lot. I mean, I miss all of you guys at the firehouse. Every day I wake up and wish I was there. But I’m not. This isn’t like a guilt trip or anything, I’m just...not sure what I want to do anymore? I can’t do what I want, so I’m stuck here feeling useless all the time. Anyway, really, if you want a free babysitter, hit me up. It’s not even babysitting if it’s just me and Chris. Or I guess if you want me to babysit _you_ ,” Buck chuckles. “I’m cool with that.” 

Eddie wants to laugh so badly. He wants to be able to. 

“Uh, anyway. Just wanted to let you know I miss you, and you’re my best friend, and–and if you ever want to like, go out for a bite or something, I’m down. Like without the team. Just us. I know that sounds like a date, uh...but I don’t mind that either. Being anywhere doing anything with you sounds pretty great. This is getting really sappy, oh, God.”

There’s a short pause, as if Buck is debating saying more, before he ends his message.

“Yeah, bye.” 

Eddie still can’t breathe. A second passes. Then two. It’s just the firefighter in his apartment wondering if he’s really alone or not, and it hits him on the thirty second mark that the call should have cut out by now, but the voicemail continues running without a time marker. Then, a much clearer, louder voice comes through Eddie’s phone. 

“Don’t blame yourself, Eds,” Buck tells him. Eddie is biting his tongue, trying to stop any more tears from leaking out of his eyes. 

“Wait. Wait, Buck.” 

His voice goes quiet again, but the buzzing getting louder. 

“Yeah?”

Eddie chokes on spit and saliva and tears, and he’s breaking apart right here and now. 

“I miss you so much.” 

“I know, man. I miss you right back,” he laughs. It sounds so real. 

“No, no. Buck, you just went and died on me.” 

The buzzing is drowning out everything. 

“Eddie, I’m going now.”

“Don’t go. Please, _dios_ , don’t go. You’re not supposed to leave yet.”

“Hey. Eddie. It’ll be all right. Can you trust me on that?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie whispers. “I don’t know.”

There’s a ghostly touch on his torso, over his shoulders, his arms; an embrace that’s almost there, almost real. But Eddie is doubled over, phone clutched in his hands as he tries to keep himself together. If he looks up, opens his eyes, he’s afraid Buck will disappear. It's then the buzzing stops, and the ringing in his ears dies. The air is clean and quiet. Buck is far behind him now, speaking loud and clear, and it resonates through Eddie’s soul. 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”


End file.
